Personal Detail
by spookytus
Summary: Blaine Dalton has just been elected America's first gay president. As such, he needs secret service agents of an unusually high skill level. Agent Kurt Hummel is assigned to President Dalton's personal detail. HIATUS. Not sure when I'll get back to it.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Personal Detail

**Pairing**: Klaine, AU.

**Warning**: Not much to worry about this chapter, but in the future there will be sex. And lots of it.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Glee. If I did, it'd be all about these two.

**Prompt**: From the LJ Kink Meme community. "Senator Blaine Dalton has just been elected America's first gay president. As such, he needs secret service agents of unusually high skill level. Agent Kurt Hummel (Specialty: Hand-to-hand combat, expert Sai Swords) is assigned to President Dalton's personal detail. The President is immediately attracted to Agent Hummel who is a strange mix of effeminate and badass. Their relationship escalates to quick, passion-filled but secretive hook-ups: Agent Hummel blowing the president under his desk, Blaine fucking Kurt over the presidential desk, Kurt riding Blaine in his desk chair. Everything is all sexy fine until Kurt is shot while protecting Blaine and the president realizes it's more than just sex: he's totally in love with his Agent."

* * *

He's tucked safely from the public's eye, his little apartment flat guarded heavily from every angle. Blaine avoids the television like the plague, and has instead taken to playing a lonely game of solitaire on his coffee table while some of Chopin's nocturnes play quietly from the little stereo in the corner. He would have been at the kitchen table playing this game, but there are too many windows to just sit there and do nothing. Plus, the completed 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle is still sitting there from earlier in the afternoon.

He briefly contemplates getting it framed when the phone rings.

It's his advisor. Rachel Berry.

"_Have you been watching the TV?_" she says.

"No, of course not."

"_Turn on the news_."

He doesn't want to, but Rachel's so controlling that he doesn't have a choice, unless he wants to get yelled at more than usual. He picks the remote up off the coffee table, flipping on the television and switching to the news station.

There's some news story about yet another child prodigy playing the piano, and he thinks about how that was him thirty-odd years ago. He voices this to Rachel, eager to turn the television off again, but she says, "_Keep watching. Just shut up and keep watching."_

The story gives way to commercials, and the commercials are interrupted by breaking news. The anchor looks excited, too excited, and she's talking rapidly. Something about the presidential election, and then she says, "Winning eighty-seven percent of the popular vote, Senator Blaine Dalton is officially the next President of the United States."

"_Blaine__?"_ Rachel says when there's no answer on his end for a good five minutes. "_Blaine__, did you see it? Did you hear? You're the next President! The President of the _United States of America_! You did it! The first openly gay President! Can you believe it!"_

She's talking so rapidly that Blaine's glad he doesn't have to say much to appease her. Eighty-seven percent of the popular vote leaves open twenty-three percent of the vote that would, more likely than not, love to see him dead at the hands of one of their own. He swallows hard, loud enough for Rachel to hear, and she abruptly stops talking. Eventually, though, she says, "_…Blaine? You're not backing out, are you? You're happy, right?"_

She sounds so happy, and she has every right to be. Rachel Berry has been his pillar of support throughout the entire race. Death threats? She was there. Publicity mishaps? She was there. Raging fanboys? She was there. She was there for him one thousand percent of the time, and what did he have to thank her? A little ingratitude and a whole lot of self-doubt. As he thinks, he takes in a deep breath, then exhales. Then, he smiles. He feels tears prickling his eyes, and in all honesty, he's not sure if they're tears of joy, tears of fear, or some other kind of tears he really doesn't have time to name right now. Because he's just won _the presidential election_, and in two months' time, he'll be the President of _the United States of America_. And the tears fall, and Rachel can hear them, and suddenly, he can hear her sobbing over the phone, too.

"_Blaine__, I'm so happy. I'm so proud of you. I know this is a lot to take in, so I'll let you go for now. Get some sleep, Mr. President. We have a big day tomorrow!"_

There's a click in his ear, and the line is dead. When he looks back at the television, tears still falling from his eyes, he can blearily make out his name on the news, his face plastered all over the screen, clips of his speeches playing to reflect how he had come so far. Blaine realizes how important this is – how important _he_ is. And just before he turns off the television, he catches a glimpse of his slogan.

_Courage. We all suffer. Keep going. _

_

* * *

_

He's awoken early the next morning. He stumbles out of bed, rumpled-looking and disheveled. As he heads for a shower, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror of his bathroom. His hair is streaked with gray, even though he's just dyed it. His face looks haggard and tired, though he's not surprised; he slept horribly last night. Running a hand over his face, he rubs the dark stubble that's beginning to form over his chin and knows it's time to shave again. He heaves a heavy sigh and gets into the shower.

The routine is typical. Shower. Shave. Dry hair. Gel it. Then he gets dressed into a gray suit with a pink button-up underneath. _Stereotypical,_ Rachel says, _but it gets the point across. It _**_defines_** _you._

Blaine's not sure if he approves of a pink shirt "defining him" or not, but he chooses to not argue with Rachel. She has yet to steer him wrong, and that means he's not about to doubt her just yet. He completes the ensemble with a tie and the symbolic American flag pin on his lapel. Wristwatch on, pink sunglasses in his hand, Blaine is out the door, where two men in suits are waiting for him. Forty years old, and he still only stands at five feet, six inches tall. A hobbit compared to these two hulking bodyguards.

"Senator Dalton," they say, greeting with curt nods. He nods back and follows them out of the building, heading right for the limo that's waiting at the curb. So far, so good. No death threats or suicide bombers that anyone can see. One of the guards checks over the limousine before deeming it secure and opening the back door for Blaine to get in.

Rachel is sitting inside, and the second he sits down, she squeals and throws herself at him, hugging him tightly. He hugs her back until she lets go, and he sits back against the seat. "Can you believe it!" she exclaims, for what has to be the hundredth time. "Blaine Dalton, fiftieth President of the United States! This is amazing! Twenty-four years ago, we had the first black president; eight years later, we had the first woman president; and now, the first homosexual president!" She sighs and sits back, her legs crossed elegantly over one another. For someone with so much responsibility at thirty-eight years old, she looks absolutely gorgeous, her dark brown hair pulled up into an elegant bun. There are laugh lines around her mouth, but she's always smiling so that comes as no surprise. She looks just as professional as he does, and as they pull up to the Secret Service headquarters in Washington, D.C., they both see the hoard of paparazzi waiting for them outside. One of the two body guards gets ready and slides over to the door first.

"What're we doing here?" Blaine asks.

"Due to your status as the Presidential elect, you require protective operatives of an unusually high skill level. We are here to introduce you to your guards," one of the men explains, his face totally blank as he speaks.

"Oh," he says lamely as the door is opened. He and Rachel put their sunglasses on and head out of the car after the guard, pushing past the paparazzi and the shouting supporters. They head straight into the building without so much as a glance backwards and Blaine's relieved to be inside again. Being outside for long periods of time leaves him feeling naked and exposed. It doesn't help that there are still death threats hanging over his head.

Rachel is chatting with one of the stone-faced guards, who doesn't seem to be bothered by her chatty nature. Then they're led into a practice room, where they both take off their sunglasses and tuck them into their pockets.

Men and women of all shapes and sizes are sparring in hand-to-hand combat, but one person sticks out to Blaine above all the others. He can barely tell that he's a male, and it's only because his shoulders are too broad to belong to a female. He's tall, lithe, and well-built, his silky brown hair swept perfectly away from his face. The agent turns as the spars begin to end now that the Presidential Elect is in the room, and Blaine can't help but stare at his face. Beautiful blue eyes, half-lidded in a vaguely sexy expression, curved nose, and lips that are just begging to be bitten – Blaine coughs and looks up as the head of the Secret Service comes into the room.

"Senator Dalton," he greets, and they exchange a firm handshake. He seems taken aback, as if surprised that someone of Blaine's stature could have such a strong grip. "Welcome to the headquarters of the Secret Service. It has come to our understanding that you require special agents to guard you."

"Agents of a higher caliber are necessary for Senator Dalton's protection due to hundreds of homophobic death threats he has received over the course of his campaign," Rachel explains fluidly, pulling her Blackberry out of her pocket and flicking it open to a program. The officer leans over and examines the list of threats. While they're preoccupied, Blaine looks back to Mystery Agent.

They're both staring at each other now. This agent seems to be effeminate; his hands are sinuous and slender, arms folded over one another and fingers tapping out a beat only he can hear. His taste in fashion is peculiar, especially for sparring – tight yoga pants that leave very little to the imagination, a black tank top that just barely stretches across his chest, a pair of pink leg warmers, and black and white Puma sneakers. It looks as if he's getting prepared to audition for a role in the remake of _Flashdance_, not kill threats to national security.

"Senator Dalton," the head of Secret Service states, and Blaine quickly tears his gaze away from Mystery Agent and tries to give the bulkier man his full attention. "Each and every person in this room is a specially trained operative to protect and kill. They will be assigned to protect you once you are inaugurated as the President. For now…" He turns to the group of agents. "Agent Hummel."

To Blaine's surprise, the effeminate Mystery Agent breaks away from the crowd and steps forward, coming to a stop a few feet away from Blaine. He stands with one hip slightly jutted out, chin raised just a fraction, and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks proud, and Blaine figures he has every right to be. Which makes Blaine thinks about all the secret, illegal things this agent has done.

He shouldn't find that as… _hot_ as he does.

"Senator Blaine Dalton, meet Agent Kurt Hummel. We're assigning him to your personal detail."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** First of all, please allow me to say that I am so incredibly humbled by all of your amazing and kind reviews. I had planned on writing this fic very quickly, and your reviews have simply cemented my resolve to finish this as soon as possible (not because I don't enjoy it… but there are my own personal stories I would love to work on over break).

I also want to let you all know that I post little updates about how writing is going on my Tumblr (link on my profile page). Since I reblog an awful lot of stuff, from now on I'll begin tagging my posts about this fic with the tag _Personal Detail _so you can search for notes about it quicker and more efficiently.

Quick special thanks to **A Nonny Mouse** for pointing out that we already have openly gay congressmen. I don't follow politics (at least, not domestic politics), so I really had no idea. XD The error has been fixed.

**Disclaimer: **As always, Glee doesn't belong to me. If it did, it would be renamed _Dalton_ and be all about Kurt and Blaine. c:

**Chapter Warnings: **Not for little Gleeks!

* * *

The two men stand facing one another, just staring. Blaine's not quite sure how to react. Kurt Hummel looks like he could be anything but a specially-trained killing machine, but really, he's got no choice. "So," Kurt says finally, raising an eyebrow. His tone is a little sassy, and Blaine doesn't know whether to be endeared with his personality or a little off-put. The overwhelming reaction is endearment. "Are we just going to stand here and stare at each other or are we actually going to be… productive?"

The word rolls off his lips like honey, and Blaine finds himself smiling. "Productivity is my middle name," Blaine answers.

"I thought your middle name was Courage."

Blaine thinks about that before saying, "I have a lot of middle names. My parents were indecisive."

Kurt smiles, really smiles that time, and finally holds out his hand for Blaine to shake. "Well, Senator Blaine Courage Productivity Dalton. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Kurt Hummel."

Trying not to seem too eager, Blaine takes Kurt's hand and shakes it. The agent's hand is soft and warm, perfectly smooth and not even a little bit dry. It is quite the difference from Blaine's rough and calloused hands from dozens of years of playing a wide array of instruments. However, Kurt doesn't appear to be put off, and they finally let go of each other's hands.

"Well," Rachel says, stepping between them and causing the two males to step back. Though most of the other agents that had been in the room had dispersed, the people who remain had witnessed the whole exchange. The executive agent's face is stony and hard, but he doesn't say anything. "This has been a great introduction, but how about we let Agent Hummel get changed so we can get on with today's business. You have a lot to do today, Blaine, namely that press conference…"

Blaine holds up a hand and she trails off. "You're right." Kurt gives a little nod, taking this as his cue to leave. He turns and struts off, hips swaying tantalizingly, and Blaine can't help but stare at his ass as he walks away. Rachel clears her throat, obnoxiously, and the Senator quickly turns back to the remaining people in the room. Smiling, Blaine tries to play it cool. "Shall we get some coffee while we wait for Agent Hummel?"

There aren't any protestors, so they all head to the break room. They serve Blaine coffee in the best mug they have, which is a simple white ceramic mug featuring the Lincoln Memorial. He heavily flavors his with sugar and hazelnut creamer, just finishing when Kurt comes into the break room.

He's wearing a pair of tight gray pants, black boots, and a blue pea coat with a gray scarf underneath. His bag is over his shoulder, his hair in perfect condition, not looking at all like he had just come from sparring with his fellow Secret Service agents. Blaine looks him over before looking down into his empty coffee mug.

Rachel looks taken aback at Kurt's choice of fashion and tentatively asks, "Agent Hummel… are you sure that this is the best choice of clothing to wear on the job?"

Kurt rolls his eyes and flicks his hair out of his face, placing a hand on his hip and standing as he had in the practice room. "Look. I'm not your average Secret Service agent. I've been _specially_ _hired_ to protect the future President of the United States. It's impossible to do this by conventional means. It's better for me to pose as someone close to the President than as an agent." Kurt sits down and crosses his legs, placing his bag in his lap. "Besides, I don't exactly come off as the typical Secret Service type."

"He has a point," Blaine agrees. "If it proves to be an issue, we can change our tactics, but for now, let's trust his judgment."

The agent smiles and nods in Blaine's direction. "Thank you."

"This has been invigorating," one of the guards says, "but Miss Berry, we really must get the Senator to his press conference."

"Right," Rachel says, getting to her feet. Blaine follows suit, but Kurt takes his time getting up from his chair. She's addressing the executive officer now, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Thank you very much for the coffee. I'll be in touch."

* * *

The Thanksgiving holiday comes and went. Blaine spent it with Rachel, Kurt, and a few other guards, though the day was spent just as any other, aside from a lavish dinner at the end of the afternoon. Soon after that, Christmas is upon them. Kurt has proved to be a more than capable bodyguard as the days roll by. If someone gets too close, Kurt sweeps Blaine casually away, laughing and telling jokes like an old friend. There has yet to be any outright violence, though the agent's sparring classes prove him to be a formidable fighter. Though tall and lean, Kurt is graceful and quick, and knows how to turn an opponent's strength against them.

And, though it might just be wishful thinking, Blaine could jut their tension with a knife.

Things are going well until Blaine notices that his bodyguard is becoming more and more morose as the days wear on. It seems that Kurt had no qualms with his job as of yet. In fact, he appears to be enjoying the Senator's company a majority of the time. They're both oddly compatible, easily getting along and comfortably spending their days together.

However, Kurt's mood begins to spiral as Christmas cheer begins to overtake Washington D.C. The normally chatty young man is staring forlornly out the window, drumming his fingers against his knee and heaving a sigh every few moments.

"Kurt," Blaine says finally, and the agent looks up, mildly surprised at the informal use of his first name. "What's the matter?"

The agent scoffs. "What are you talking about?"

"You've sucked up all the oxygen in the room with your heavy sighs," he explains, setting his file on his desk and taking off his silver-framed glasses. "I'm feeling light-headed. What's on your mind?"

The agent looks at him for a few moments and then turns away, looking back out the window. At first, Blaine thinks he won't answer and he'll be pulling teeth for the truth, but then Kurt speaks. "It's my dad. You know, I haven't seen him in a year and a half, and I was hoping to spend Christmas with him this year…" He shrugs where he sits, but doesn't turn back around. "I had to cancel on him when I got this job offer."

The Senator doesn't know exactly what to say at that. Primarily, he feels awful for preventing Kurt from visiting his family over the holidays. What Blaine would give to spend another _minute_ with his parents. Without hesitating, he gets up and sits down beside the taller male. "Go spend Christmas with your father."

Kurt jerks around, eyebrows knitting down in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me," Blaine states, his smile kind. "Go."

"I can't just leave you unprotected," he counters. His voice leaves no room for argument, so Blaine comes up with the most logical solution.

"Okay. Then I'll go with you."

"_What?_"

But Blaine is already at his phone, dialing Rachel's number. She answers, and he says, "Rach, cancel all my appointments for the next four days. Kurt and I are taking a winter holiday."

"_Are you sure that's wise?_" Rachel's voice responds.

"It's going to be fine. It's only a couple of days, and Kurt will be with me. I won't even leave his house, if that makes you feel better," he says.

Rachel sighs heavily. "All right, fine. But _do not_ leave his house. Do. Not." Her voice is venomous and deadly serious, and he realizes that she has the best chances of killing him if the opportunity presents itself.

* * *

They get Blaine out of the city with a wig that strongly resembles Rachel's and a feminine pantsuit. He borrows her sunglasses and second favorite winter coat, and none of the press are any of the wiser. Fortunately for Blaine, Rachel and Kurt have become buddy-buddy, so it's not unusual for them to be seen together casually.

The plane makes Blaine nervous, but Kurt is there so he automatically feels better. The ride isn't as long as he expects, even though he doesn't sleep. Kurt doesn't, either, but that's because he's too worried about his hair and the fact that Anne Hathaway is on the cover of the latest Vogue. Before he knows it, it's dark outside and they're pulling up the Hummel family's driveway in the most inconspicuous vehicle they could rent.

By now, Blaine has shed the wig and the pantsuit and is dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans, a simple black turtleneck sweater, black boots, and a heavy black pea coat. His hair is mussed from being under the wig, and he's wearing his glasses instead of contacts. He likes dressing this way; he hates being so formal all the time.

The front door opens while they're getting their duffle bags out of the trunk, and a tall man ducks through the doorway. He looks to be about their age, his dark hair smoothed out of his face, dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans ensemble. "Kurt!" His eyes land on Blaine, and he squints at him. "…Do I know you?"

Blaine falters, but Kurt is quick to smooth over the situation. "A friend from work. His name's Blaine."

The tall guy looks over Blaine for a minute, nods, and heads back inside. Kurt slams the trunk closed, his cheeks flushed. He's smiling again, and Blaine knows that this is the right decision to make. Then Kurt catches him staring, and Blaine looks quickly away, adjusting his coat. "Should I be nervous?" Blaine asks.

He knows Kurt is smirking that little smirk of his, but he doesn't look at him to see it. "I don't know. Should you be?"

The Senator watches as Kurt sashays up the stairs and into the house. He hurries after him, not wanting to be left behind. Inside, he's surprised at how small and cozy the house is. The lights tinge the room orange, but it's so warm inside that he's immediately unbuttoning his jacket. It smells like macaroni and cheese, but not the cheap kind from the boxes that he has stocked up in his apartment – it smells like rich Velveeta cheese, noodles, salt, and herbal tea.

"Kurt!" a woman exclaims from the couch. She's a pretty blonde with her hair pulled back, a toddler sitting on her knees. Kurt smiles and leans over the couch to hug her just as an older woman comes in. She doesn't have to say anything; Kurt's immediately in her arms, hugging her tightly.

She's short, with short brown hair heavily streaked with gray, with a kind face and creases on her skin that just emphasize her smiles and her motherly persona. Blaine just watches all of these exchanges from the door, mussing his hair and adjusting his glasses. That's when the blonde notices him. "Oh! Hello!"

"Hey," he greets with an award-winning smile, and the blonde smiles back. "I'm Blaine."

"My name is Quinn," she replies, "and this is Rae Ann." The brown haired toddler looks at Blaine, who waves, before becoming shy and burying her face against her mother's chest. Quinn shrugs and looks to the older woman in the room, who has finally stopped speaking with Kurt and has turned to Blaine.

"Hello, Blaine, I'm Carole," she greets, bypassing a handshake and giving Blaine a warm hug. He smiles and returns it. She reminds him so much of his own mother that it almost hurts, but he says nothing about it. "Here, let me show you where you'll be staying –"

"Ma, you don't have to do that," Kurt says. "I'll show him. We'll be down for dinner in a second."

They leave the women downstairs and head up, stopping at the first door. "This is Finn's old room," Kurt explains. When Blaine looks at him blankly, he quickly corrects, "The guy who came out on the porch. He's my step-brother." He pushes open the door. The room is clean, though there are remnants of the teenager who used to live there. The sheets are fresh, though; he can still smell the laundry detergent.

"Finn and Quinn live in town," Kurt explains from the doorway, picking at his nails. "So it'll just be me and my parents sleeping here."

Something in Kurt's tone makes Blaine's skin flush, but he doesn't let it show on his face. "Okay," he says simply, setting his duffle bag on the end of the bed. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the bed post, kicking off his shoes and adjusting the collar of his turtle neck. He steps out of the room and follows Kurt down the hall. In all honesty, Blaine is so curious to see what Kurt's childhood room looks like.

Inside, it's impeccably spotless, and very, very gray. Everything has a place, neat and tidy. Trophies from karate tournaments and glee club excursions alike like the shelves. A pair of some kind of dagger are mounted on the wall. Blaine smirks. "Gray?"

"Not all people can pull it off," he states, setting his bag down and draping his coat over the bed. He leaves his shoes on, turning to Blaine. "Hungry? Let's eat."

Downstairs, everyone is already seated around the table. Quinn is seated near Rae Ann and Finn. Two chairs are open across from one another, and then it's Carole and a foreboding-looking man with no hair and a face that strongly resembles Kurt's, and Blaine knows that this is his bodyguard's father.

"Hello, Mr. Hummel," Blaine greets, messing up his hair some more and shaking Mr. Hummel's hand with his free one. "My name is Blaine. I work with your son."

They shake hands. "Call me Burt," he says gruffly. They sit down and begin passing around the food, loading their plates and chatting amiably. When there's a lull in the conversation, Burt turns to Blaine. "So, Blaine," he says, "are you gay?"

Blaine almost chokes to death on a chunk of lettuce from his salad, and Kurt drops his fork. "Dad," he says sharply, while Carole shakes her head and Finn drops his head, embarrassed. Quinn only pays the minimum amount of attention, trying to feed Rae Ann and herself at the same time.

"What?" Burt asks, turning to Kurt. "It's a legitimate question. I want to know who my son is hanging around."

"I'm almost forty, dad," Kurt sighs.

Burt ignores him and turns back to Blaine, who has managed to clear his windpipe and compose his expression. "Yes, I'm gay," he answers.

"Do you like my son?" he inquires.

"We're good friends," Blaine explains. Before Burt can ask why Kurt would bring a 'good friend' home, the Senator continues, "He knows that my family is no longer alive, and he felt bad that I had to spend the holidays alone."

Kurt is staring at him now, and Burt has turned back to his food. "I'm sorry for your losses," he states. "We're glad to have you here for the holidays."

"Thank you," Blaine answers sincerely. "That means a lot to me." They exchange a smile, and the atmosphere relaxes.

Dinner winds down, and Quinn and Finn prepare to leave as Rae Ann begins falling asleep against her father's shoulder. Blaine and Kurt help Burt and Carole clean up the kitchen and pack away the leftovers, just talking all the while. They keep their job descriptions vague, and never once mention Blaine's last name; he's so disheveled and dressed down that they most likely didn't even recognize him off the television.

They finish the evening off with glasses of wine while watching a Christmas movie on television. When it's finally late enough, they all head upstairs to get ready for bed.

Blaine unzips his bag and pulls out his sleeping clothes - a simple pair of flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt. He changes quickly, stepping out into the hallway just as Kurt comes out of the bathroom. His breath catches in his throat at the mere sight of him.

His agent is shirtless, his hair damp and falling neatly around his face. Their eyes lock, and Blaine swallows. Audibly.

Kurt looks torn, before looking away and heading to his room. Blaine exhales noticeably and turns, heading back the way he came. Before he can completely shut the door, however, Kurt pushes the door open and shoves Blaine up against the wall.

Their lips crash together, needy and insistent, constantly begging for the other to give more, and neither denies the other. Kurt moans as Blaine presses his leg between the agent's legs, while Blaine reaches out, fingers groping until he grabs the door and pushes it closed.

"Kurt," he gasps out, starting to rethink this. "Kurt, I.. I've known you for two months." Where is he going with this again?

The taller boy presses his lips to Blaine's neck, nipping the skin and leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake. "So?"

"So," he repeats. "So, should we be doing this?"

Kurt pulls away, looking sexy and disheveled and wonderful. "Don't you want to live a little?"

"I've lived plenty," Blaine insists, but he can feel his resolve quickly weakening as Kurt leans in to nibble on his earlobe.

The agent seems to sense this, and his hands slide lower to rest on Blaine's hips. "We could die at any moment." He leans back again, face flushed. "When was the last time you had any?"

Blaine has no answer to give, because honestly? He can't remember. It's been years, pathetically. The most action he's gotten has been in his shower by his own hand. Kurt smirks, and Blaine rolls his eyes, looking away. "Exactly," the taller male says, turning Blaine's face back to his and pressing their lips together once, twice, three times before sliding down along the length of Blaine's body and kneeling on the floor.

Oh, god, Kurt's parents are in the next room and there's a draft in his room and he's suddenly hard and he's not sure how well he can contain himself and – _oh good sweet Lord above._

Kurt's mouth is suddenly around his swollen sex, tongue moving in erotic little circles around the head of his erection. Blaine's head falls back against the wall, his knees weak, but Kurt gives him some help and presses his hips firmly back against the wall with both hands. He's not sure how they got to this point – it was all so _random _– but Blaine is so incredibly happy for it because _holy shit it has been a long time_.

To his surprise, Kurt takes his entire length into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside of Blaine's erection. The older male jerks forward at the feeling, but Kurt presses Blaine's hips back against the wall.

That's when Kurt starts humming, and the vibrations drive him wild, over the edge, and he's coming. It doesn't bother the agent; he sits back and swallows without a second thought, wiping his lips and tossing his partially-dried hair out of his face. "So," Kurt says, his eyes glinting playfully. He smirks and gets to his feet, brushing his fingers against Blaine's now-limp penis. The Senator jerks at the touch, eyes rolling shut.

"So," Blaine finally replies.

The silence stretches between them, and Blaine opens his eyes. Kurt's still smiling, and he leans forward, brushing his lips gently across Blaine's. He can taste himself on Kurt's lips, and he finds that he quite likes the taste.

"Merry Christmas," Kurt breathes in his ear, running his fingers through Blaine's messy curls before leaving the room without a second look back.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** More amazing, humbling reviews! I'm shocked and awed at your kind words! You all are truly driving me to continue this fic with a passion. So truly, thank you, especially those of you who have pointed out my mistakes. It has helped me to really polish this story. Hopefully, the story will continue to get better with the help of my new beta, **UchidaKarasu.**

All I ask is that you continue to review and show your support for the story. Also, I LOVE hearing from my readers, so don't hesitate to look me up on Tumblr or send me a message here. It may take a bit to respond here (I sometimes forget you can private message!) but I will get back to you.

Again, thank you, and enjoy the newest chapter of _Personal Detail_!

**Disclaimer**: Glee does not belong to me. If it did, some of the events in this story might actually happen!

**Chapter Warnings**: No sex, just fluff. c:

* * *

Blaine wakes up, takes one look at the clock, and rolls over to go back to sleep.

When he wakes up for the second time, he just lays there for a bit, the previous night's events coming back to him. At first he feels satisfied (A blowjob from his sexy-as-hell bodyguard? Yes, please!) before a feeling of dread overtakes him. How in the world is he going to keep that relationship professional now?

He resolves not to get caught with Kurt alone. Getting up, Blaine spies a piece of paper on the floor near the door and plucks it off the ground. In a neat, swirling script, the note reads:

_Blaine –_

_Went last minute shopping with Carole._

_Back in time for dinner._

_Do NOT leave the house without me._

_My dad promised to be good._

– _Kurt_

Blaine rereads it before glancing at the clock. 10:27. Crumpling the note into a paper ball, he gathers up his clothes and goes into the bathroom. When he comes out again, his hair is damp and unruly, and he's dressed comfortably in a hoodie from his alma mater – American University.

His stomach alerts him that he's hungry, so he ventures downstairs. Burt is nowhere to be found, so Blaine gingerly opens the refrigerator to fix himself a plate of hot leftovers from the night before. He sits at the table and eats in silence, looking about the room curiously. It's simply decorated, pictures and paintings on the walls, but still tasteful and very uniquely Hummel. Once he's all done with his meal, he washes his plate, silverware, and glass, and begins to venture throughout the house. The pictures are his primary source of focus, and he finds them to be very intriguing. He laughs at a few, wonders about the others, and eventually finds himself back on the landing at the top of the stairs. Fortunately, he's tired again, so he goes back into his room to lie down for a while.

His door opens while he's reading through a file he brought with him, and he looks up at Burt.

"I was wondering where you were," is all he says at first. Blaine smiles and shrugs.

"It's just nice, not having to work so hard. I haven't gotten to just lay in bed in…" He hesitates to say the word 'years', and instead goes with "…a really long time."

"I don't blame you," Burt says with a chuckle. "Kurt should be home soon. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"Thank you," he says as the door clicks shut. He flicks the folder closed and tosses it onto the nightstand, rolling over and closing his eyes. He's about half asleep when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He listens as the door slams and then as the front door opens downstairs.

Getting off the bed, Blaine ventures into the hallway. He's halfway down the stairs when hears the voices. He's hiding in the hallway when he realizes that none of them belong to Kurt, and that they're talking about _him_.

" – I didn't know, because I don't like politics," Finn is saying. What is Finn even doing here? Weren't they spending Christmas Even with Quinn's parents? Blaine doesn't have time to ponder it for long, because Finn continues, "But Quinn did, and now I have to ask: Why the hell is _Kurt_ with the _President_?"

"Presidential Elect," Burt corrects.

"Whatever!" Finn explodes. "Just tell me what the hell is going on!"

"I can't," he replies. Before Finn can interrupt, he continues, "I literally can't, Finn. I'm legally obligated. Kurt is, too. His job is absolutely confidential. Everything he has done legally never happened. He can't talk about it, at all. The only reason I know is because I was once a special agent, too, and I'm still legally obligated to keep my mouth shut. I'll take my dirty little secrets to the grave."

Finn doesn't say anything, so Burt continues.

"You're acting like it's so easy for him, but it's not. He calls me, tells me what's going on." He shakes his head and closes his eyes. "I never wanted this for him, but it's what _he_ wanted."

"But why? Why would Kurt choose _him_? He's not worth getting killed over!" Finn practically yells in reply.

Blaine doesn't want to hear any more. He steps out and coughs, putting on his cool Politician's Face when they look at him. "If you have a problem with me, let _me_ know. Kurt's just doing his job."

They look at him like they're slow or something, before Finn's face hardens and he steps around the couches. "All right," Finn says, his tone severe. "I don't like that my brother is risking his life for you. You're gonna make changes? Well, good. I'm glad. But Kurt doesn't have to be a part of it. You can find someone else."

After a moment, Blaine nods and straightens up. "I didn't choose Kurt," he states. "I didn't tell him to join the Secret Service. He was assigned to me, and I trust him with my life." He looks at Burt over Finn's shoulder, talking to both men now. "You worry about him – I get that, but he is really, really good at what he does, and he _loves_ it. And I'm not about to make him abandon something he loves." He pauses, then looks back at Finn. "…Are you?"

Finn stares back, almost defiantly, but finally looks away, ashamed, before grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. He walks out the door, letting it slam behind him. Once he's gone, Blaine messes with his hair anxiously, his gaze sliding to Burt.

"Senator," Burt begins, but Blaine instantly holds up a hand to cut him off.

"Please, just call me Blaine. I don't want to be Senator Dalton this weekend," he practically begs.

"Uh... er – Blaine," he begins again, "You're… I don't –"

The front door opens again.

"We're back!" Carole sings, lugging bags full of goodies into the house. Kurt is right behind her, carrying even more, if at all possible. "And we're all ready for tomorrow!"

"That's great," says Burt warmly, helping his wife with her bags. She talks about how great dinner smells as they make their way upstairs, leaving Kurt and Blaine standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Kurt breaks the silence as he dumps his bags onto the couch. "Was that Finn leaving?"

Scratching the back of his head, Blaine sits beside him on the floor and begins to help him sort through the bags. "Yeah, that was him."

"What did he want?"

Blaine hesitates, gazing at the canary yellow scarf that he could only have gotten for Rachel. "They know I'm the Presidential Elect."

Kurt says nothing.

"They're worried about you, that's all," Blaine persists.

The younger man rolls his eyes and gets back to sorting through gifts. "Finn needs to butt out of my life. It's _mine_, and they're _my_ choices."

"That's what I told him," he offers quietly.

This catches Kurt off guard, and he looks up at Blaine. "You told him that? Really?"

God, it would be so easy to just lean over and kiss him, his lips all pouty like that. And it'd be good, too – slower and deeper than the night before.

Before he can stop himself, he's leaning in, and Kurt is, too. In spite of the temptation and the serious urge to attack the man in front of him, Blaine forces himself to stop short. Kurt whines in the back of his throat, and Blaine is so, so incredibly tempted to close the gap.

"Kurt," he manages. "Kurt, I really can't... we shouldn't..."

"That's fine," Kurt breathes, opening his eyes. "But tell me this: What do you _want_?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer. When he just sits there stupidly, Kurt stands up and walks away, heading upstairs. He comes back with Carole and wrapping paper, and Blaine knows he has missed his chance. Without saying a word, Blaine gets up and heads back upstairs to his room, where he lays on his bed until he's called down for dinner.

* * *

They spend Christmas Eve together in good company, eating dinner and drinking wine. As it gets later, Burt makes crab legs and they dip them in butter until their fingers are covered with grease and it takes three minutes to get the butter off. Eventually, they settle, full of seafood and Sutter Home, in front of the television to watch _It's a Wonderful Life_. Carole dozes against Burt's shoulder soon after it starts, and Burt doesn't last long either. It leaves Kurt and Blaine sitting side-by-side on the couch, arms and knees touching, trying not to look at one another but stealing little glances anyway.

The movie isn't even over when they wake up Burt and Carole and head to bed. Blaine changes into his pajama pants and a T-shirt, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Kurt's already finished his nightly routine, and when Blaine steps out into the hallway, he can see that the little gap between the door and the floor is dark.

He's halfway to his room before he changes his mind and backtracks.

The door opens silently, but Kurt rolls over anyway. "Blaine?" he asks. He sounds tired, but not like he was already asleep.

"Yeah," he replies, closing the door quietly behind him.

It's really dark in Kurt's room, and he stumbles around in the dark for a second. "Over here," Kurt urges, to which Blaine replies, "Over where?" and continues stepping tentatively across the room, arms outstretched until his fingers brush across something soft and warm. Kurt's hand closes around his wrist, pulling him forward until he falls onto the bed beside him.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asks quietly.

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said earlier," Blaine explains. "And I made a decision."

He can almost hear the wheels in Kurt's head turning, but the younger man still questions, "Oh?"

"I decided," he begins slowly, linking his fingers with Kurt's and squeezing, "that I want whatever we have. Whatever this crazy, totally insane, dangerous thing is."

There isn't a response for a long time, and Blaine fears that he's come back to Kurt too late. Then, Kurt adjusts where he's lying on the bed so he's facing Blaine completely, moving his head back and forth in the dark. At first, Blaine's afraid that he's being rejected, that Kurt wants him out of his bed, out of this house, and then –

"God dammit, where are your lips?"

He freezes up and then laughs, taking the agent's face gently into his hands and tilting his head down until their lips brush, very gently. Kurt sighs softly, happily, and presses closer, until their bodies are perfectly aligned and they're grasping at each other, desperate for more. There's nothing sexual about this – not now, at least. Just the two of them, and their kisses. And if Blaine never gets anything more than this, he knows he would always be satisfied.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Okay, all of you owe a great big thank you to my friend Charlotte on Tumblr (alittlebunny) because I wasn't even going to start this chapter today. But somehow, whenever my resolve to write weakens, she gushes about _Personal Detail_ on her blog, and I feel so guilty (but also fired up) about her enthusiasm that I just HAVE to write. So thank you very much, Charlotte! This one's for you. c:

I hope you all had a safe and happy holiday, and that you enjoy this chapter. I wish you all the best of luck as we venture into the new year! If you make any resolutions, do your best to keep to them. I'll be trying my hardest!

Once again, I have to give a shout out to my amazing beta, **UchidaKarasu**!

**Disclaimer**: Glee is still the property of Fox and Ryan Murphy. That means Klaine has yet to be canon.

**Chapter Warnings**: More sexy goodness. If you're not okay with slash at this point in the story, I think there's something wrong with you. Or you're a masochist.

* * *

Before Blaine knows it, he's back on a plane, flying into D.C. He's got that wig on that makes him look like Rachel, and much like how he left, he makes it back into his office without a hitch, aside from the occasional reporter asking Kurt and Rachel what Blaine has been doing for the last few days. Neither of them answer. They just keep their hands clasped, keeping close, eager to make it back home.

It's a relief to sneak into his office and change into a suit. Oddly, dressing casually for so long – when it had only been a few days, really – lulled him into a false sense of security, almost, but tightening that tie up to his neck pulls him back down into reality. He's the Presidential Elect of the United States of America. In less than a month, he'll be inaugurated as the President. As all of these thoughts keep repeating in his mind, grounding him back into his real life, he stares absently out the window.

There's a knock at the door that makes Blaine turn, jarring him from his train of thought. "Come in," he calls, flopping down into his chair, though he realizes this is a mistake when he sees who's coming into the room. A smile splits his face almost in half, and he all but leaps out of his chair again. "Mercedes!"

She is dressed just as professionally as he, and her hair is pulled up into an elegant upsweep with a few curls falling out and dangling around her neck. They embrace, tightly, and Blaine leans back to look at her with a huge grin. "I was wondering where you've been! The press has been asking about you."

Rolling her eyes, Mercedes plops down into a chair near his desk, draping her coat over the seat beside her and folding her hands over her stomach. Blaine gets her a glass of water before he sits across from her at his desk, leaning forward with a smile. "I've been crazy busy!" Mercedes exclaims, exhaling heavily and brushing a curl away from her neck. "I spent the holidays with my mama, and my brother surprised us by showing up. He never told us he was on leave."

"Marines, right?" Blaine asks.

She raises an eyebrow and points a threatening finger at him. "Navy. And don't ever get the two confused again." She laughs, and he joins in as she takes a long drink from her cup before balancing it on the edge of the desk in front of her. Her smile has shrunk a little, but her eyes still glittering with happiness. "So, what's up? Campaign's over. I'm sure you don't need me anymore. Unless you're going to ask me to run in your place for New York, that is –"

"Actually," he begins, dropping his eyes and toying with a pen on his desk. "I want to appoint you as my Secretary of State."

She stares at him for a few moments before laughing. Eventually, though, the sound dies off and her eyes widen when he doesn't laugh with her. "You're… you're serious?"

"Very," he says. Before she can start spewing off how she doesn't want the job, Blaine rushes to finish his thought. "You're the best person I could think of for the position. Successful state representative from Ohio, graduated _magna cum laude_ from Dominican University with a master's in International Relations…" He trails off for a moment as she begins to shake her head. "Mercedes, _please_. You're fantastic. I've seen you at your job, and you're incredible, and I don't want anyone else. Please say yes."

There's a long break of silence between them. Mercedes stares at him again, a tiny smile playing on her lips, and Blaine stares back at her, his own smirk growing when he realizes he's got her hooked. "You're never going to stop begging, are you?"

"Not a chance."

She laughs and shrugs, downing the rest of the water in her cup, and Blaine wonders if she wishes it was something a little stronger. "You didn't have to flatter me like that," she states plainly. "I would have said yes anyway."

At first, Blaine doesn't think he's heard her correctly. Then, suddenly, he's laughing, practically jumping over the desk to hug her again. She hugs back just as enthusiastically, and then she gets to her feet and shrugs into her coat with his help. "Do you want me to tell Rachel on the way out? I mean, I know the press has been buggin' about who's going to be your State Secretary and all."

Blaine waves her off and shakes his head. "I'm supposed to announce my decision for cabinet positions at the end of the month – early January, at the latest." He walks her out the door and down the hall, to the front of the Capitol Building. "I'll tell her that I've made my decision so we can start getting all of the preparations in order. Or whatever." He gives her a little half-smile when she laughs at his complete lack of knowledge of what comes next. He does have _some_ idea, but he's not totally one-hundred percent about it. That's where Rachel comes in – she's the only reason he hasn't completely unraveled yet.

They make it to the entrance, and he hugs her again. She hugs him back and heads off to wherever she needs to be in the capital city, leaving Blaine standing there at the top of the steps as she walks off. A strong gust of wind whips at her coat, reaching the Senator seconds later and chilling him to the bone. He crosses his arms and hurries back into the building, letting the door slam behind him.

He's heading back for the stairs when he spots a flash of color near the wall. He blinks and turns to whatever it was, only to see Kurt leaning against one of the pillars. The slender agent beckons Blaine with a 'come hither' expression and the curl of his index finger, almost as if that digit alone could pull him forward. Acting casual, he checks his watch and doesn't bother glancing around; he just meanders over to where Kurt is standing until they're both hidden by the width of the pillar.

"What are you doing down here?"

"You seem to forget who you are," Kurt says with a flick of his hair and a typical smirk. "It would be so easy for someone to just walk in and…" He trails off, stepping closer to Blaine. Still inhibited by the fact that they're in public, Blaine takes a step back and his spine hits the pillar. Even so, he can't say he doesn't enjoy the attention. "…take advantage of you."

Shakily, Blaine exhales and closes his eyes. Kurt laces their fingers together and presses himself close to his charge. "Kurt," he says calmly and firmly. "Please. We're in _public_."

"So?"

"So," he hisses back, making no effort to move away. "I can't get caught with you in the open. I thought that was pretty obvious."

"Don't you trust me to be sneaky?"

Blaine really doesn't have an answer for that. Of course he trusts Kurt to be sneaky. The man has been trained in specialized combat for the last ten years of his life. When he thinks about it, Blaine doesn't trust _himself_ to be sneaky, so he dodges the question completely. "Please, Kurt," he whispers. "Not here. Not now."

Kurt leans back and looks at him, his expression unreadable. "Okay," he concedes finally. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Kiss me." He pauses. "Please," he adds as an afterthought.

Blaine starts to glance around, but Kurt grabs his chin and holds him still. "Just trust me," Kurt begs, "and kiss me."

Blaine chuckles nervously and gently takes Kurt's face into his hands. "Okay, calm down," he breathes, pulling his agent's mouth down to his own. They share a kiss, soft and sweet and warm, before he pulls away. Kurt remains still, eyes closed, for just a moment longer before those blue-green eyes are staring at him. He smiles, and it manages to leave Blaine breathless.

"Was that so bad?" Kurt asks.

"No," Blaine says quietly in reply. "Of course not."

They smile at each other before Blaine pulls him into an embrace, holding him tightly for a moment or two before pulling away and heading out around the pillar. Kurt follows behind him casually, both heading for the stairs. When he sees that no one's around to see them emerge from their little hiding place, Blaine relaxes and grins at Kurt, who begins to chat his ear off about nothing in particular. Recent developments in Washington, the new line out by Marc Jacobs, something a friend from college said in a phone call.

The rest of the day passes in a slow-moving haze of nothingness. Blaine sits behind his desk filling out paperwork, finding his work as a senator tedious. Kurt remains in the office, reading a book quietly in the corner, only leaving for ten minutes to get a salad before returning to his seat. They part ways in the evening with nothing but that single kiss to hold them over.

* * *

A few days later, Blaine is in his office, stressed beyond belief at the sheer amount of work he has to do before his inauguration, just a few short weeks away. His eyes are irritated so badly that he doesn't even bother with contacts, and his hair is a mess, turning grayer faster than he can get himself to his hair stylist to get it dyed.

The door of his office opens and closes quietly.

He looks up to see Kurt standing with his back against the door. "Hey," he greets.

"Hey," Blaine replies, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. He runs a hand over his face and tilts his head back, heaving a sigh. Kurt doesn't have to ask to know what's wrong; he's just as immersed in this bullshit as Blaine is. Naturally, he's surprised when his agent sits down in his lap, straddling his legs and placing his hands firmly against Blaine's shoulders.

"Holy shit," Kurt mutters, kneading the Senator's shoulders. "You're really tense, Blaine. I don't even want to know how knotted your back is."

Blaine just hums in response, Kurt's firm, warm touch lulling him towards sleep. The monotonous motion and feeling of his muscles being forced to relax feels heavenly, and his head tilts all the way back until it's resting on the top of his chair. He barely realizes that Kurt's hands begin to travel lower over his chest, loosening his tie and undoing the top three buttons of his shirt. He doesn't even say anything when those supple hands slide down over his stomach, coming to rest on his belt.

He barely has enough sense to kiss his agent back when those lips are on his. Slowly but surely, he's brought back to reality not only by that kiss, but also by the hand on his crotch, rubbing at the crease in his trousers to get him hard.

"Kurt," he gasps, wriggling against that body, but it only heightens the sensation and makes him groan with desire. "Kurt, what are you doing, _ohh_…" This feeling is in stark contrast to the tension he was feeling just moments before. Kurt just smiles and presses his lips to Blaine's, kissing and rubbing until Blaine is completely relaxed, and he knows he's nothing but putty in Kurt's capable hands.

"Just relax, _Mr. President_," the younger man whispers erotically in his ear, making Blaine shiver and rub his pelvis up against him. "I'm gonna make you feel so good."

Kurt slides down onto the floor and unhooks Blaine's belt, letting it fall open so he can flick the button open and slide the zipper down. Even before he's pulled halfway out of his underwear, Blaine's eyes are rolling back into his head as he bites down on his lip, raising his hips as Kurt slides his slacks down just a little more – just enough so he can pull Blaine's swollen sex completely out of his those _incredibly_ restricting pants.

Before he knows it, Kurt's mouth is around his cock, and it's all he can do to keep from thrusting into Kurt's mouth. He bites his lip, head lolling back as he raises his hips off the chair. That mouth is so _hot _that Blaine's amazed he has yet to come, though he feels himself quickly losing control. "_Ohh, _Kurt," he moans, gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

That's right about the moment where the door opens and Rachel walks in.

Faster than lightning – or so it would seem – Blaine has shoved Kurt under his desk. He slides his chair as far forward as it will go, so Rachel can't see the fact that his dick is hanging out of the front of his pants. He knows his face is as red as a tomato, and he looks absolutely guilty, but she doesn't look directly at him just yet, so he can feel some of the color beginning to drain from his face.

Kurt begins to trail his fingertips up and down the length of Blaine's still-hardened erection as Rachel approaches the desk. Blaine jerks forward so he's hunched over his desk, quickly resting his elbows down and linking his fingers together, looking like some very gay, very disgruntled version of Dr. Evil.

Rachel finally looks up from the papers she's been scanning over, doing a double take as she finally notices Blaine. "Uh… what's with the evil villain vibe?"

"Uh," he begins eloquently, chomping down on his lip to bite back a moan as Kurt's tongue swirls around the head of his cock. "Uh, well, y-you know… h-headache and a-all." He curses his stammer and bites on his tongue, wanting to kick and kiss Kurt all at the same time.

"…Oh-kay," she says slowly, drawing out both syllables of the word. She shakes her head, as if to get rid of cobwebs, before dropping a planner onto his desk. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that your press conference about Mercedes is set for the week after New Year's. You also can't forget that Senator Evans is holding a little New Year's get-together at his house in Virginia, and you simply _have _to go." She picks up the book again and pencils something down on the page. "It's a great moment for you to get some good publicity."

"_Ohhh._" Kurt's mouth has once again completely enveloped his dick, and it's all he can do to keep his head. "O-Ohh. R -Right! The party. How could I f-forget? Silly me!" He laughs nervously, sweat breaking out over his forehead as he rests one of his hands on his knee, digging his nails into the fabric of his slacks.

Rachel crosses her arms after flipping her planner closed, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Blaine, what the heck is the matter with you? You're flushed! Are you cold? Do you have the flu?" She steps forward to lean across the desk, and Blaine lurches forward to meet her halfway. Though his intentions are to keep her from getting a glimpse of something that could never be unseen, he only succeeds in forcing Kurt to deep-throat him. A groan emits from deep in his throat as his advisor brushes her fingers against his forehead.

"You're burning up, Blaine!" she exclaims, eyes widening. "Oh, God, you can't be sick!"

"I-I'm not sick," he manages breathlessly, swallowing another moan. "It's j-just jet lag!"

That makes her stop and give him a look that clearly questions his sanity. He's nearly outright panting by now, and his grip on his chair could easily break the neck of a small mammal. His eyes keep rolling back into his head, and his cheeks are flushed with color.

"I'm going to page for the doctor," Rachel says, panic clear in her voice.

"Rachel!" Blaine slams a fist on the desk and groans, easily stopping Rachel in her tracks. Kurt's mouth is doing wonderful things and now his _hand_ has joined in and _oh, God, just make it stop _– "Rachel, do not call the d-doctor." He tries to keep his voice calm, but it keeps breaking and quivering and _oh _shit _Kurt just needs to stop already_ –

"Blaine, there's something seriously wrong with you," she says, voice shaking as tears come to her eyes.

"I swear to you that I am _f-f-iiiiine_," he assures her, clamping his eyes shut on the last word and slamming his fist onto the desk again. "Oh, _God dammit_ just get out of here, please!"

"I can't leave you alone like this!"

"Oh my _God_, Rachel, I just have to go to the bathroom _so fucking bad _–"

"Oh, gross!" She takes a step back, like he may explode at any moment. "Then let me help you to the bathroom –"

"_Rachel just get the fuck out of my office!_"

As he screams those words, he comes, hard, but by this moment, Rachel has scurried from the office and shut the door quietly behind her. Blaine slumps over onto his desk, panting and feeling altogether spent. He swallows, hard, and slowly gets to his feet, clutching onto his desk for support. Before he can topple over, Kurt is there, supporting and steadying him, look all too pleased with himself the whole time.

"_I'm. Going. To. Kill. You_," he threatens as he's deposited into his chair, his agent helping him tuck in his shirt, button his pants, and fix his belt.

"No, you're not," Kurt whispers in reply, leaning forward to capture Blaine's lips with his own.

"Okay, I'm not," he agrees, trying to act furious but unable to as Kurt hands him a cup of water. He downs it in almost one gulp before resting his head against the back of his chair with a worn-out expression. "What am I gonna tell Rachel?"

Kurt swishes water around in his mouth before swallowing with an impish grin. "You covered that already." He snorts as he takes another drink. "'I have to go to the bathroom'… what the hell have you been eating, Blaine?" Kurt grins and runs his tongue over his teeth. "Whatever it is, it's _delicious_."

Blaine groans and shuts his eyes, running a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ, stop _turning me on_."

"Okay, okay," Kurt concedes, stepping over to Blaine's chair and resting his hand on the Senator's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I thought you handled that quite well, if you ask me." Without warning, he stoops to place a gentle kiss on Blaine's lips. Blaine relaxes with a sigh and kisses back, long and slow and deep, until Kurt leans back and heads for the door with a wink.

He waits until at least five minutes have passed. To his surprise, he can walk pretty normally, though his knees are still a little shaky. He steps out of his office and heads down to Rachel's desk. She catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye and looks away quickly, blushing as soon as she can see him.

"Um, Rachel," he begins.

"Don't say anything," she says, cutting him off. "I don't know what happened in there, and I don't think I ever, _ever_ want to know." She glances across the room, where Kurt is sprawled out on a couch, reading the latest issue of Vogue he retrieved off the coffee table. "That never happened, okay?"

He sighs, relieved. "Okay."

* * *

Rachel makes good on her word and doesn't say anything about what happened in the office that day. Thankfully, they all have the New Year's Eve party at Senator Sam Evans' home to think about instead. Rachel, Blaine, and Kurt all arrive just after the party is officially under way, though they're all bombarded by the press and fellow politicians alike the second they walk through the door.

Blaine's novelty doesn't wear off as the night goes on, much to his dismay. He manages to set himself up near the buffet table where he can just nibble on snacks and sip champagne and talk. Kurt is never far away, though he does his own socializing, away from his charge. The clock nears eleven forty-five when Blaine is finally free from talking, immediately stepping over to Kurt.

"This is the worst party," Kurt states plainly, looking out at all the stuffy politicians in their neatly pressed suits with their perfect trophy wives on their arms.

"The worst," Blaine agrees, downing the rest of his champagne and grabbing another glass.

The agent watches him with a bemused expression. "Should you be drinking like that? That's your fourth one in the last three hours."

"I'm fine," he says with a smile, sipping his drink this time. "I've been eating this whole time, too."

Kurt looks excited, but falsely so. "Great! Drunk _and _fat!"

His jaw drops at this, and he gives his bodyguard a playful shove. "You little shit!"

"I'm only kidding," he replies with a fond smile, adjusting the coat of his Armani tuxedo with a huffy sigh. Blaine watches his face for a second, setting his drink down on the table. The minutes continue to tick down to midnight, and he sidles closer to Kurt discreetly. Of course, the agent notices and looks away with a shy grin. Blaine lets his fingers trail over Kurt's palm and fingers until their eyes meet, and he nods very slightly to a darkened hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

Blaine goes first, but Kurt isn't far behind. They don't even make it to the bathroom when they're hidden around the corner, pressed into the corner, listening to the radio over the loudspeaker – who puts a loudspeaker in their house? – as the countdown to midnight begins.

"I've never had a New Year's kiss," Kurt admits, his hands resting lightly on Blaine's shoulders. The shorter man pulls his agent closer by the hips, until their bodies are pressed together. "Not sober, at least."

"Me either," Blaine says, causing Kurt to raise his eyebrows.

"You think this counts?"

"Shut up," he says as the countdown reaches one. Their lips are on one another's now, kissing greedily and hungrily. Blaine's hands are under Kurt's jacket, trailing up and down the younger male's sides as they continue to kiss, his tongue slicking out against his agent's lower lip. Kurt giggles girlishly, which makes Blaine smile in return, and they're too lost in each other to hear the pair of heels clicking down the hallway.

Blaine's hands are just beginning to slide lower, to grab Kurt's supple ass and press their bodies even closer together, but suddenly, there is someone shoving them apart, and Blaine looks over to see a furious Rachel, waving her clutch in Kurt's direction. "You stupid, stupid boys! What the hell are you thinking?" Then, without warning, she whirls on Blaine and beats him multiple times with her purse. "What the _fuck are you doing_?"

"R-Rachel! Rachel, stop, ow!" He grabs her purse and yanks it away from her. "Look, it's no big deal. It's nothing serious, just a little fling." His eyes flash to Kurt's face. The agent gives a nod, and Blaine focuses back on Rachel. "We're both just… needy."

"I fucking _knew_ you were going around behind my back," she hissed, advancing on him again. "The trip, the little looks, the office…" She trails off and looks at Kurt, eyes so wide they look as if they might pop out of her head. "You weren't… in the office… please tell me…"

Kurt just shrugs innocently and says nothing.

She shrieks in fury and rushes at Blaine again, who holds the clutch out of her reach. "Give me my purse!" she exclaims, reaching for it. "Blaine Dalton, give me my God damned purse back!" He doesn't listen to her, and once again keeps it out of her reach by tossing it over to Kurt. "God dammit!" She slams her foot on the ground out of frustration, sucking in a shaky breath before sobbing and sinking to her knees.

At this point, Blaine knows it runs much deeper than just his illicit love affair with his bodyguard. He sinks to one knee beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. "Rachel? Rach-Face, what's the matter?"

Sobbing still, she chokes out, "P-Puck can't g-get leave and I'm stuck here by myself, and I h-have so much f-freaking work to d-do, and I just get s-sick all the damn time, and everything is going to _shit_ and I don't know what to do, Blaine." He knows she'll keep going, and she sucks in a deep breath and chokes before crying some more. "I'm _pregnant_ and Puck's not here and I'm totally lost!" Her sobs have turned to wails of pain, and she's doubled over on herself, as if to hold all that pain inside.

"Oh my God," Kurt says simply.

"Rachel," Blaine whispers, eyes wide. "Oh, God, Rachel." He pulls her into his arms and holds her tight, rocking her as she cries. "Just cry it out, baby girl, just cry it out…"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I don't have much to say about this chapter other than I'm sorry for the hold-up. What with the holidays, things have been kind of hectic! But now I'm back home with absolutely nothing to do, so I will spend my time here with Misfits, my Glee season one box set, and my laptop.

Once more, I have to thank my amazing beta, **UchidaKarasu**, especially for tirelessly editing the last chapter with only one usable hand! Thank you so much!

I will try to get another chapter or two written within the next week because next Sunday, I return to my university and on Tuesday (or Wednesday?) I start classes once again. That being said, updates may be slower once it starts up again, but I will never abandon the story, and I hope that you won't, either!

Also, I just wanted to say that even though I did my research about inauguration events for the day, I don't know _exactly_ how everything works, so I did a bit of fabricating and basically wrote how I see it in my head. Try not to be overly critical if it's not exactly right.

Enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter Warnings:** Dare I say it – mild violence!

* * *

The inauguration is upon them. Sure enough, Rachel is pregnant with Puck's baby. Truthfully, Blaine isn't terribly surprised. They have been together for a while, and Rachel _really_ wants kids. The only reason Blaine has reason to be wary of it is because of the awful timing. Regardless, Rachel remains steadfast in her support of Blaine, keeping to her job in spite of her pregnancy.

Blaine gets little sleep as January 20th continues to creep up on them. Much of his time is spent in his office, either doing work or taking power naps on his couch. Sometimes he's out and about for the press, doing interviews with Good Morning America, 20/20 or something similar. Kurt helps him dye his graying hair one day when they have a couple hours to just sit and talk, though they almost forget to wash out the dye because they end up making out on the couch.

"So on the seventeenth and eighteenth of January, you and Mercedes will be doing a bit of a tour," Rachel explains, pacing about the office while staring at her clipboard. "Then on the nineteenth, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, you'll have a few things to do to commemorate him… and then the twentieth."

Blaine's stomach drops, and he grips Kurt's hand in a death-like vice. "Relax. Everything's going to be perfect," his agent soothes.

"Kurt's right," Rachel agrees. "The weather is looking to be very fair. Maybe a little chilly, but it's supposed to be beautifully sunny with no clouds. The schedule is perfectly planned out. All you have to do is remember the Oath of Office, and your address. After that, it's smooth sailing!"

She makes it sound so easy, but he's still apprehensive. "I need some air," he says suddenly, getting up and walking out of the room. Rachel tries to call him back, but he hears Kurt shush her quietly. He makes it to the east front of the Capitol Building, stepping out onto the massive balcony and folding his arms across his chest, looking down at the steps below. People are coming and going from the building, and it looks just like any other day. Except it's not. It's so close to the end.

"Berry said you might be out here," a voice says behind him.

He turns suddenly and sees President Sue Sylvester standing in the doorway of the glass doors. She's flanked by two Secret Security Agents. "Ms. President," he stammers out, eyes widening. He's met her on a few occasions, of course, but to see her standing there in front of him, just the two of them, sends him into a bit of a spiral. What does he do? She is such an icon – one of the best Presidents America has ever had.

He suddenly remembers how impossible it is going to be to live up to her legacy and tries not to rush off in a panic again.

"Don't just stand there blubbering like a five year old school girl," she says blandly, taking a few steps down. Her agents follow close behind, but she seems to have no qualms about speaking to him in front of those agents. Then again, it's not like any of them could say anything about it, even if they wanted to.

"If you don't mind my asking, Ms. President –" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Just call me Sue. Might as well get used to hearing the sound of fear radiating through that one syllable again, rather than my entire title," she muses casually, though she continues to stare down at him intently. It makes him flustered, and he focuses on the spot between her eyes, rather than her eyes themselves.

"Sue," he begins again, "if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"

"I came by to take care of some necessary tasks here in our beloved Capitol Building," she explains, looking at her nails as if bored. "And then I decided I'd swing by. See how you were crumbling under the pressure." She looks him up and down, and then smirks. "Right on schedule."

That makes him a little mad. Of course he's stressing out. He's only forty years old. He has a list of death threats a mile long hanging over his head. He's hiding a secret affair with his personal bodyguard. He's going to be inaugurated as President of the United States of America in just a few short days. "Did you come here to ridicule me, or did you come here for a _productive_ reason?" he demands.

She doesn't look at all surprised at his response. "And ridicule isn't productive?" she inquires. He just gives her a look before he turns back to look off into the city, continuing to watch the people come and go. After a few moments of silence, she steps up beside him and leans on the railing. "Look. I know what you're thinking. How am I supposed to step up to such an iconic role as one Sue Sylvester? I'll answer that for you right now: You can't."

He shakes his head and turns his face away, clenching his hands into fists.

"But let me tell you something, Pretty Boy. No one else can be me. I did things no one would ever _consider_ for this country. I purposefully pissed off the public of this nation on numerous occasions for a _reason_. I played the antagonist, the instigator, so that there would finally be a reason for America to rally. I played the bad guy to light a fire under their asses to motivate the indifferent, obese demographic of this country."

He listens with a careful ear, wondering where she's going with this. When she doesn't speak immediately, he looks at her curiously. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is that I made America hate me for a reason. As a result, there was a lot of productivity. Economic boom. Job increases. Diplomatic breakthroughs," she says, but Blaine still isn't following. She shakes her head and looks out over the city, oblivious – or choosing to ignore – his confusion. "I single-handedly put this nation back on a pedestal."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Blaine asks, his spirits dropping quickly. "Because it's not working."

She shakes her head and turns toward him. "Don't you get it? I made them hate me so that they'd _love_ you. I paved the way for a better America. Granted," she admits with a wry smirk, "I went about it a very abrasive way." She looks him dead in the eye. "I made sure things got done, and I made them hate me in the process. And that's where you step in.

"You are meant to be the White Knight. The icon. No one expects you to do what I did. No one else has the capacity to even compare to Sue Sylvester – I'll admit that. But you're fresh faced. You're eloquent, you're attractive, you want the best for this country. You will pick up where I left off, but you'll be the leader they deserve. Not the one they need."

Blaine stares at her incredulously, trying to think of something to say. Before he can think of anything, one of her agents taps her on the shoulder and whispers in her ear. "Well, that's that, Pretty Boy. Duty calls." She turns at that and heads back for the door, her agents flanking her.

"Sue, wait," he finds himself saying.

She pauses and glances back at him, raising an eyebrow.

When nothing particularly educated comes to mind, he simply says, "Thanks."

To which Sue Sylvester scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Don't thank me. You're about inherit the shittiest job you'll ever have."

* * *

The tour is tiring, but his speeches are well-received at every stop along the way. When they return to Washington, the streets are bustling with people coming to witness the inauguration of Senator Blaine Dalton – the first homosexual President of the United States of America.

The nineteenth is a slower day, filled with remembrance and memorials for Martin Luther King, Jr. Blaine makes sure he is attentive and sincere in everything he does that day, wanting the people to know that he would fight for equality, much like Martin Luther King, Jr. had done in his time for civil rights.

The night before the inauguration, he can't sleep. There are guards just outside his bedroom, in his apartment. Rachel feels that, as the list of threats continues to grow as the twentieth draws nearer, the level of security needs to be upped. Unfortunately, Kurt is not among them; he has the night off to pick his parents up from the airport because Blaine invited them as honored guests to the ceremony.

Somehow, at some point, he dozes off. When he wakes up, he feels like he's being watched, so he immediately sits up, looking blearily around the room. An agent he vaguely remembers is sitting in the chair across the room. He stares at the agent, the agent stares back, and suddenly, Blaine remembers him. "Puck?"

"Senator Dalton," he says with a smirk.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demands, climbing to the end of the bed, though he's not upset. In fact, he's grinning.

Puck shrugs. "I heard that you needed a few extra guards. Checked it out with my superiors and… well, here I am."

"Does Rachel know?"

"Not yet, no," he admits, "so don't go spoiling the surprise."

They don't have much more time to talk after that, and in about an hour, Blaine is dressed and ready to leave the apartment. Kurt is waiting outside, near the limo. First event on the list? Morning worship service. He knows Kurt isn't religious, and as they climb into the car, Blaine says, "You don't have to go, you know. There are other guards who could get me to the Capitol Building."

"And leave you to suffer this morning alone?" Kurt inquires, feigning incredulity. "Never."

Blaine just smiles at him and heads inside, heading to the where a few pews are sectioned off for Blaine, Sue Sylvester, Rachel, and a bunch of other political officials. The service lasts about an hour, and once it was over, the procession to Capitol Hill begins. Sue, Kurt, Blaine, and a few other agents climb into an armored limousine and began the short journey to the Capitol Building. They speak very little; Blaine feels all eyes on him as he bounces his knee, trying to remember not only his address, but also the Oath of Office.

"Pretty Boy," Sue finally says. He looks up. She looks like she wants to say something like _you'll be fine_ or _relax_, but instead she goes with, "You've got some dirt on your face. And your hair is graying. You might want to get that checked out."

Blaine guesses that's the best he's going to get out of her, so he just smiles wryly and says, "Thank you, Sue."

After that, they all process out of the Capitol Building and out to the east front. They're all greeted by the shrieks and cries of support from the crowd. Blaine's heart leaps into his throat as he takes his seat, the US Marine Marching Band playing their normal processional. After that, the reigning show choir national champions perform a selection before the welcoming remarks are given by the Speaker of the House.

Blaine hardly pays attention to the rest of the program. He claps when it's appropriate, though his mind is focused on chanting that thirty-five word mantra that will give him access to the Presidency in his mind, while his eyes are roaming over the crowd.

Mercedes takes her Oath of Office.

She has been inaugurated before he has, but to see her standing there, smiling down at all of them, gives him hope. She looks down at him, and winks, and he winks back.

Guards are stationed with guns all around the perimeter, at the ready to shoot if need be. The crowd is contained and security personnel are scattered throughout. And suddenly, they're all screaming his name again. At first, he's confused, but then Sue Sylvester pats his shoulder and he knows it's time.

The Chief Justice opens the Bible Blaine has selected, and turns to Job 5:7; there, highlighted in yellow, is the phrase Blaine will be swearing on.

_Yet man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward._

He places his hand gently over the text, his fingertips brushing those words. He looks up and meets the Justice's eyes, speaking slowly and clearly for all to hear:

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States of America."

The crowd goes mad, screaming his name. He shakes the Justice's hand as the Bible is snapped shut, and he heads for the podium, standing there and looking out at the sea of people. His people. The American people.

"Former President Sylvester, Chief Justice, honored guests, Congressmen and women alike, and my fellow citizens:

"It is with great honor and privilege that I stand here before you today. This journey has been a long, rocky road, but I am so humbled to be able to stand before you at this moment, as your new President of the United States.

"It's no secret that I am homosexual. I have never tried to hide it," Blaine says, no longer looking at his notes, and just speaking. The words come so easily, because he means each and every one of them. "And to have been elected by the people of this fine nation… well, I honestly believe that shows such progress and initiative. First, we had President Barack Obama, the first African-American President. Then we had President Hillary Clinton, the first female President. Then we had Sue Sylvester – who really needs no introduction. I am so grateful to be able to join among them as the first of, hopefully, many more like me – a proof of progress of this fine nation."

They begin to cheer again, and he smiles widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. He holds up his hands, wanting silence, and they comply, though it takes a few moments for the crowd to settle. He glances at Rachel and Kurt to his left and then Sue and Mercedes on his right before turning back to the people. "It's going to be difficult, I will admit," he says, "having to live up to a legacy like President Sylvester has left for me. But I believe that America is ready, ready to stand on her own and flourish like she did so many years ago. With that strength comes the need for change – and I want nothing more than to assist in bringing that change." The crowd erupts once more, and Blaine smiles. But something's amiss; the crowd is no longer cheering…

They're screaming.

People begin to stampede away, trying to move, when a series of gunshots go off. One is so close that it ricochets off the podium Blaine is standing at. The Senators and honored guests are in a frenzy, trying to run off stage, while security is attempting to stop the shooter.

Another gunshot goes off, and suddenly, Blaine is grabbed by Kurt. "Blaine! What the hell are you doing?"

"Rachel!" he exclaims, looking around. The balcony of the east front is deserted, though people are running from the White House. "Where the hell is Rachel!"

Another gunshot.

"She's with my parents, let's _go_!" Kurt demands, shoving Blaine through the glass doors he had come through the other day, where he had his talk with Sue Sylvester.

Once they're safely inside, they're running down the hallway, and as they reach the main foyer of the building, Blaine is immediately surrounded by a flock of Secret Service agents, Puck among them. "Mr. President, are you all right?" one of them asks.

"I'm fine, just a little shaken," he assures them, Kurt sticking closely to his side.

"Where's Rachel?" Puck demands as they begin to usher Blaine towards the back entrance, forming a protective perimeter with Kurt inside. They know he's Blaine's personal guard; they know that Kurt will go with him when they cannot.

"She's with my family," Kurt says. "Kurt Hummel, personal agent for President Dalton." They shake hands briefly as they head for the armored limo to take Blaine directly to the White House. "They were escorted out with Sue and Mercedes. They were heading for the Senate Chamber to wait it out."

"Why don't I go there?" he inquires.

Puck snorts. "I know it seems like a good idea, but you really need to be in the White House right now. Symbolism and all that."

Blaine nods as they hurry him into the car, a few agents getting in as well. They make the drive to the White House, and another group of agents gets him out of the car and safely inside. Kurt and Blaine immediately made a bee-line for the Oval Office, with more than a few Secret Service agents on his tail, Puck still among them.

"At the safest possible moment, I need Rachel Berry and the Hummels to be delivered from the Senate Chamber to this room," Blaine orders as soon as he's standing behind the desk, drawing the curtains shut with a snap.

"Yes, Mr. President," two agents say, hurrying out of the room.

He points to the remaining two agents and says, "Set up the press room. I need to make a statement." They nod, salute, and hurry out, leaving Puck, Kurt, and Blaine alone in the room.

"What are we going to do?" Kurt asks.

Blaine heads out of the room and they follow him. "We are going to find ourselves a TV and find out exactly what's going on."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I wrote the author's note and published the last chapter of this story before or just after the attempted assassination of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in Tucson. Although no one has said anything to me personally, I have actually begun to question whether or not this story should be continued in the direction I have it going. And in the end, I decided that me writing this story, dealing very heavily in attempted assassinations of (albeit fictional) public government officials, is showing no disrespect to any of the men and women currently serving our country in political office. This chapter is dedicated to all of those affected by the shootings. I hope that you all keep the victims in your thoughts and, if you are so inclined, your prayers.

I also need to apologize for the collosal delay on this chapter's arrival. I have been VERY busy, as I am now back at my university. Classes are difficult - I do a lot of academic writing and reading now, and when I'm not doing that, I'm relaxing on Tumblr or at musical practice (I am playing the Witch in my uni's production of _Into the Woods_). I hope you all will understand and accomodate me in the coming weeks, as they will be getting very, very hectic.

I need to give my quintessential shout out to him, **UchidaKarasu**, my lovely beta. You rock!

**Chapter Warnings: **This chapter has what the last one lacked: steamy porn for you to love. Side note: I told all of my tumblr followers who read this fic to turn on Coldplay's "Amsterdam" while they read the steamy love scene. I listened to it on repeat while I wrote it, and I really think it helped me be more koala tea than usual.

* * *

"_Just twenty minutes ago, the inauguration of President Blaine Dalton was effectively shut down and disbanded by his attempted assassination."_

Blaine hardly bats an eyelash at the reporter's words. If today is any indication, then he guesses he has to get used to hearing the word _assassination._

"You don't need to see this," Kurt murmurs behind him.

He shakes his head. "Yes. I do."

"_Anthony Azimio was arrested at the scene. Though police aren't releasing many details, they are under the impression that another unidentified shooter was also involved,"_ she says. Behind her, he can see the remains of the crowd in front of the east-front balcony. He swallows hard, wondering if anyone else was hurt.

"Blaine," Kurt whispers, but Blaine waves him away.

The reporter is speaking again, and Blaine hopes to hear something else about the other people. _"Though no official statement has been made, President Dalton, Vice President Jones, and Former President Sylvester were seen fleeing the east front balcony unscathed. More –"_

The television abruptly shuts off, and when he turns, Blaine sees it's Kurt holding the remote. There's something about his agent's twisted expression that concerns him. "Puck," he begins, his eyes never leaving Kurt's face, "could you go check to see if the press room is ready? And check on the details about Mercedes, Rachel, and the Hummels, if you get a moment."

He doesn't need to glance back to know that Puck has already left the room. Without taking his eyes off Kurt, Blaine steps back slowly to the door, flipping the lock shut before turning to face Kurt completely. He crosses his arms, watching, although Kurt isn't looking at him; he's staring broodingly out the window. When he doesn't say anything, Blaine approaches him slowly, reaching out to rest his hand on the back of his shoulder. To his surprise, Kurt shies away, crossing his arms tighter across his body. "Kurt… what's the matter?"

At first, he doesn't answer. Blaine opens his mouth to ask another question and reaches out to touch Kurt again, but stops short because to his surprise, Kurt speaks. "I thought you were going to die," he murmurs, not looking away from the window. "I saw where the bullet hit, and… and if that podium had been further up, or further back, or if you hadn't been standing so close to it, or if you had _moved_ you would have gotten _shot_."

"But I wasn't," Blaine replies slowly, eyebrows dipping down as he stares, perplexed, at Kurt.

"But you could have been," the taller male says darkly, the underlying tone of fury undeniable in his voice.

"But I _wasn't_."

At that, Kurt whirls on him, arms still crossed tightly over his chest, expression furious. "But you could have been!" he nearly shrieks. "Don't you understand how that made me feel? To see that happen? To see everyone running and screaming, and you…" He laughs hysterically. "You were just _standing_ there! What were you _thinking_?"

"I _wasn't_ thinking," Blaine says calmly. He finally reaches out and places his hands against Kurt's shoulders. The agent ducks his head and closes his eyes, but he doesn't step away this time. He takes this as a good sign and steps closer, Kurt's folded arms the only things separating their bodies. "What's really wrong here, Kurt?"

He doesn't hesitate to answer. "I wasn't thinking, either. I saw it happen, and I just stood there like an idiot." He looks up finally, blue eyes moist, but not like he's going to cry – more like he's just full of emotion. "But then you ducked a little and you were looking around, but you didn't look scared –"

"What?" Blaine asks, confused for real this time. "I don't remember any of that."

Kurt raises an eyebrow and takes a tentative step forward, slowly lowering his folded arms. "It's true. You didn't run away, but you ducked a little and looked around, and you looked really worried and concerned… and then when I grabbed you the first thing you asked me about was Rachel."

He does remember that last bit. "So… you're upset because you… didn't react?"

Looking away again, Kurt shrugs. "It… it all happened so fast, and when I thought you'd been shot because you didn't move or react at first, I…" He chokes a little, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip.

"Hey." Blaine tilts Kurt's face towards his, and the agent reluctantly opens his watery eyes to look at him. "Don't beat yourself up about it, okay? This wasn't something anyone expected, least of all me." He shakes his head and pulls Kurt into his arms, embracing him tightly. "We've just got to be more careful next time. More prepared."

Blaine feels Kurt grip the back of his jacket with both hands, fisting the fabric and straining the blazer against his shoulders. He presses his lips gently to the agent's pale neck, eyes fluttering closed as he inhales deeply, just trying to savor this moment. "I'm really sorry, Blaine," Kurt whispers softly, resting his chin on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine just squeezes him tighter.

"It's okay," he says, pulling away from their hug to look at Kurt. He lifts his head off Blaine's shoulder and stares back for a few moments before their faces tilt toward one another, their lips gently brushing. Blaine's hands slide lower and come to rest on Kurt's hips, though they don't go much further than that. There's too much stress out there for them to want anything more than this.

* * *

"_Mr. President, what were your initial reactions after you were safely inside the Capitol Building?_

Blaine is back in the television room with Kurt at his side later that day. Puck and Rachel are sitting, reunited. She's tucked safely under his arm, and his hand is settled protectively on her belly. Despite the fact her lover has returned, she's staring anxiously at the television, still shaken from the violence earlier that afternoon.

He watches himself answer with, _"I'd say fear was a rational, knee-jerk reaction." _In hindsight, he's not sure if that was the best response, but why should he have to lie? He's just as human as the rest of the people that were there. _"But in all honesty, I was calm. I knew what I had to do. I knew that Vice President Jones, my advisor Miss Berry, and the honored guests were all safe in the Senate Chamber. It was just a matter of ensuring the safety of the American people."_

"You handled yourself well," Rachel says quietly. Blaine just shrugs.

"_Mr. President, two people were shot in the crossfire, countless more injured in the rush to get out, and two people were killed – one died from his gunshot wound, and another was trampled to death by the crowd," _a reporter says, standing as he speaks. On the television, Blaine's face twists into an expression of remorse. In real life, his eyes narrow and he crosses his arms tightly. _"Tell me, how is that 'ensuring the safety of the American people'?"_

"_You sound as if I predicted something as tragic as this would happen."_

"_That's not what I was implying at all,"_ the reporter says shortly. _"You just seemed to be saying that running was ensuring our safety."_

Another reporter, a woman, stood up then and faced the male. _"Excuse _me_, but I think you should have a little more respect. President Dalton has just been elected and you are slandering his name within four hours of his inauguration."_ She turns to face Blaine this time. _"Mr. President, do you have any idea as to what's being done in regards to the mysterious second shooter?"_

Blaine actually has no real idea. Puck had come over before the conference and told him the bare minimum. In other words, the police were still questioning witnesses and trying to find some kind of lead. He watches himself relay that information to the reporter, then add, _"What's important is that justice will be served to at least one of the culprits here today._ _I'm sorry, but that's all for now. I really must get going."_ The reporters all leap to their feet, suddenly exploding with more questions, but Kurt whisks him quickly out of the room.

The program ends.

The news comes on and begins to relay the story of his attempted assassination, but Kurt is quick to shut the television off. Blaine turns back to the others in the room, leaning against the table. "What now?"

Rachel shrugs before reluctantly pulling herself away from Puck, opening her bag and rifling through her agenda. "Well, tomorrow you have a few meetings to go to, standard stuff… it's pretty slow going. No one really wants you to leave the city."

He sighs and rubs his forehead. "All right, then. Everybody get going. I'm heading back to the Oval Office to finish up some work. I hear that there are still quite a few balls going on."

"I might hit one up," Kurt says suddenly. They all give him a funny look. "I mean, since I'll be done here in a half hour… I might go to one for something to do." He shrugs nonchalantly, and while Rachel still looks confused, Blaine just smiles.

"Go. It sounds like it'd be fun."

* * *

By the time the day winds down, Blaine has ended up in the Oval Office, answering e-mails and filling out paperwork. He's been left alone for quite a while, though he knows that there are a few agents lurking just outside his door. When he glances at his cell phone sitting on his desk, he can see that it's almost midnight; he should really ditch the work and head to bed.

Just outside the door, he can hear quiet voices. The door of his office slowly opens as Kurt steps inside, arms crossed loosely over his chest, almost as if he's hugging himself; he's dressed in a sleek, simple black tuxedo. Blaine takes off his glasses and sets them on the desk. "Hey, are you all right? I thought you went to one of the balls."

Kurt doesn't answer. He just walks around Blaine's desk and moves to sit in the President's lap. He's quick to push away from the desk so his agent can sinuously fold himself into the chair, curling against Blaine's chest and resting his head against his shoulder. "What's the matter?" he whispers, resting his cheek against the top of Kurt's head. "You're not still upset about earlier, are you?" Listlessly, the brunet shrugs, his eyes fluttering closed. Idly, Blaine's fingers trail up and down Kurt's back while his free hand rests on the taller man's knee. "Talk to me, please?"

"I just needed to be with you," Kurt answers after a moment or two. "I know you're busy, but I just needed to be with you."

Blaine lifts his head and looks down at the male in his lap. "This _is_ about today." It isn't a question.

Once more, Kurt shrugs.

The President hugs him a little tighter and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. "That's all over now," he whispers. "Chin up."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Kurt demands, eyes still closed, though Blaine can see the makings of a smile on his lips.

"Get up." Blaine sits up and begins to push Kurt off his lap. The agent is reluctant and altogether unwilling, but he has no choice but to stand when he's almost knocked onto the floor as Blaine gets to his feet. He links their hands together and pulls Kurt close to his body, resting his hand on the agent's lower back as they begin to move slowly in circles, their cheeks touching as they dance. He can feel Kurt smiling, and it makes him smile, too.

And then, Blaine starts humming.

It's no specific tune; sometimes, it sounds like a slower version of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream". At other moments, it sounds like "You Are Loved" by Josh Groban. Regardless of the song, Kurt is smiling as he and Blaine slow dance near the desk, until suddenly, they stop. Blaine leans back and stops humming, looking puzzled. "Something wrong?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No," he says softly. "No, I'm fine. Come on, you're done for today. Even _you_ need to rest, Superman."

The President just smiles at the nickname and shuts off his computer, flipping the file on his desk closed and getting to his feet. Kurt whistles, which makes Blaine give him a quizzical look. "What?"

The agent looks him over. "I just thought I'd have to drag you kicking and screaming to your bedroom," he says simply.

"I have a _bit_ more dignity than that," Blaine replies with a sly smile.

They head out of the room together, walking in a quiet, comfortable silence down the hall. Kurt still seems to be troubled by what had happened, so when it's obvious that no one is going to be rounding the corner anytime soon, Blaine takes Kurt's hand and gives it a squeeze, holding it all the way to his room.

Neither of them say anything for a moment or two, before Kurt bites his lip and gives a little shrug. "I… guess I ought to get going home now. Plenty of agents lurking around to protect you and –"

He's suddenly silenced with a kiss, Blaine's lips moving insistently against the agent's. Kurt is eager to respond, wrapping his arms around the shorter man's neck. They just stand there, kissing, until Blaine pulls away and smiles. He heads into to his new bedroom and pulls Kurt inside, the door falling shut quietly behind them.

The lights are off, but the moonlight is streaming in through the windows. Kurt eagerly pulls Blaine against him and kisses him again, though there's a little bit of space between their bodies this time. That allows for the President to slide his hands against the lapels of his agent's blazer, flicking the jacket buttons open and pushing it down over his shoulders, allowing the expensive garment to fall onto the floor.

Underneath it, Kurt is wearing a pair of suspenders, and for some reason that just turns Blaine on. He grabs hold of them and smiles against the other man's mouth. His own blazer is unbuttoned by his protector's sinuous fingers and unfortunately, he has to let go of Kurt's suspenders to get it off.

The undressing part of the whole process is very slow and sensual. Blaine's hands long to touch every inch of Kurt, and his lips long to trail after them, but he makes sure to take his time while his fingers undo the bowtie and begin to unbutton his agent's dress shirt. Kurt looks on almost apprehensively – or maybe eagerly. At this point, Blaine can't really tell the difference. Truth be told, he can't tell if he himself is eager or apprehensive, either.

Slowly, he slides off Kurt's suspenders, and then the agent is shrugging off his dress shirt, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the ground on top of his designer jacket. Blaine slides his hands down Kurt's chest, captivated by how _strong_ the younger male looks. Yes, Blaine knows that Kurt is powerful, that Kurt is a specially trained agent in hand-to-hand combat, but he's still amazed, like he forgets about all those things when he's dressed in his high-fashion outfits. Every part of him is made of firm, lean muscle, and Blaine finds himself pressing his fingertips to his agent's chest, dragging them down slowly, amazed when the muscles resist the pressure, like a rock.

He feels Kurt's breath against his face, and he looks up, surprised. The brunet's eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as his lashes flutter, and he trembles a little. Blaine takes hold of him by the belt and pulls him closer, Kurt's bare chest pressed against him. Unfortunately for Blaine, he's still fully clothed.

The agent is quick to rectify this as his trembling fingers fumble with the knot in the President's tie. Blaine laughs a little, eventually reaching up to deftly remove the knot before draping the tie around Kurt's neck. The agent laughs a little, though he gulps a little as he begins to work at the buttons of Blaine's shirt. He stops only when Blaine takes hold of his wrists.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asks.

Kurt laughs, though it sounds a little hollow. "You keep asking me that," he chides, but soon after, he shrugs, eyes dropping so that he's now looking at Blaine's shirt, rather than the President himself. "Call me selfish, and call me crazy, or horny, or whatever…" He lifts his gaze slowly. "…but I thought you were going to die and I'd never get to know what you feel like."

Surely, Blaine should be offended, because coming from anyone else, the statement is absolutely crass, implying that Kurt wanted Blaine for sex and nothing more. But coming from the brunet standing in front of him, Blaine knows that Kurt is just being sincere, and that this moment is so much more than just a hook-up – the two of them are just too afraid to put a label on whatever they have and come out with it to the public.

"Hey," he murmurs at last, gently taking Kurt's face into his hands. His thumbs stroke idly against those flushed cheeks. "Hey, stop saying that. I'm not going to die."

"You don't know that," Kurt responds softly, lips pressing together firmly.

"I don't," Blaine concedes after a few moments of silence. "But I'm optimistic. Why can't you just live in the moment?"

At that, the agent's lips twist, as if he's going to say something important but he's holding himself back. Then, to Blaine's surprise, he's pulled forward by his shirt, and Kurt is working at the buttons with renewed vigor. Their mouths press together, open and begging for more, and Blaine is miraculously shirtless somewhere in the heat of it all.

He's working at Kurt's belt, grinning against the agent's mouth when he's able to slide it through its loops and toss it onto the floor among the growing pile of clothes. Kurt is quick to do the same, and a few moments later, they're climbing onto the bed. Blaine collapses back against the pillows, and he pulls Kurt down on top of him, pressing his lips gently to his agent's jaw.

"You're really warm," Kurt says with a little giggle, and Blaine smiles against his neck. Things have gone from a boil to a simmer in just a few short minutes, and in all honesty, he can't say he doesn't enjoy the feeling. His hands slide around to rest against Kurt's lower back before traveling lower to rest on the agent's buttocks. He bites down on Kurt's neck gently, and at the same time, he gives that supple ass a firm, hard squeeze.

To his surprise, Kurt moans and arches closer to Blaine, and the President finds himself grinding up against the brunet's hips. He rolls over so Kurt is pinned underneath him, and he sits up a little so he can unbutton those neatly pressed slacks, tugging them down over those narrow hips. They, too, end up on the floor. God, he's so close to exposing the younger man completely, and judging from the bulge in his underwear, Kurt's ready and willing. Shyly, the agent bites his bottom lip and folds one arm under his head, his free hand resting against his stomach, and Blaine can't help but think that he looks like someone out of some high-end fashion magazine.

"You," he whispers, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kurt's stomach, trailing his lips upward as he continues, "are so fucking beautiful." He's level with the agent's mouth again, and he moves to give him a kiss, but he's stopped by a firm hand pressing against his chest.

The expression on Kurt's face confuses him, and at first, Blaine thinks that he's said something wrong. But then their lips are pressed together and Kurt is speaking against them, low and quick. "Say fuck again."

"What?"

He digs his fingers into Blaine's shoulders, and the President has to resist the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head so he can focus on what Kurt is saying to him. "_Say_ _fuck again_."

…Oh. _Oh._ A grin slowly spreads over his face as he drags his lips across Kurt's and over the younger man's cheek, eventually nibbling gently on his earlobe. Finally, he breathes slowly, "God, you make me so _fucking_ hot…"

Kurt whimpers and rocks his hips up, wanting more. Blaine chuckles and groans out another quiet, "_Fuck_," before he sits back again, unbuttoning his own pants and wiggling out of them, though it's a little difficult since he's still half-laying on Kurt. Soon enough, he kicks them off and presses himself close to Kurt, knowing he's just as hard as the man underneath him.

All that's separating them now is their underwear. Kurt twines their hands together, and Blaine gives a warm, tentative smile that the agent is all too eager to return. Blaine presses his lips against the other man's, his tongue gently slicking out against Kurt's bottom lip. The brunet quickly lets his own tongue slide out and gently touch the President's, and while they're kissing, Blaine's hand slides down against the firm muscles of Kurt's body until his fingers are dipping past the waistband of his underwear.

Kurt gasps softly as Blaine begins to stroke him, pulling away from the kiss. His eyes flutter shut, head tilting back as he wraps an arm around Blaine, fingers digging into the President's shoulder while his other hand fists against the comforter of the bed. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyebrows turning down to create a crease in the middle of his forehead, soft whimpers escaping from Kurt's throat. Blaine finds the whole image incredibly erotic, and he wants Kurt _bad._

He stops stroking the younger man as his wrist begins to tire and begins to pull his underwear down, and Kurt eagerly lifts his hips to oblige him. Before he can even toss them away, the agent has his hands on Blaine's own pair of briefs, and he's yanking them down clumsily. Oddly, it makes Blaine chuckle; usually, Kurt is so careful, so precise, so well put-together, but now… Now he's fumbling with the elastic of a pair of underwear.

They're laying there together, naked, bodies perfectly aligned. Blaine knows that Kurt can feel his erection pressing against his leg, and he sure as hell can feel Kurt's, but right now, that doesn't matter. "What's so funny?" Kurt asks shyly.

"Nothing," Blaine assures him, brushing his brown hair away from his forehead before beginning to trail kisses down Kurt's neck. He pauses at his collarbone, sucking and biting until there's a little bruise left behind. He grins a little at every little sound Kurt is making, sliding down so that he's hovering over the agent's hardened erection.

"What are you doing?" Kurt whispers, confused, raising his head off his pillows.

"Returning a long-overdue favor," he answers, resting one hand on Kurt's hip as he takes the younger man into his mouth. As he lets his tongue trail over the head, his other hand slides up the length of the brunet's body, his fingertips gently brushing Kurt's bottom lip. He moans, realizing what Blaine wants, and dips his head to suck on those fingers while Blaine continues to suck him off.

When Blaine feels that his fingers are sufficiently wet enough, he retracts his arm and urges Kurt's hips up with his other hand. The agent complies, and Blaine eagerly presses a finger to his protector's hole. Kurt bucks up against his mouth, and Blaine pulls away as the finger slides in, watching as Kurt's eyes flutter closed. His head falls back, cheeks flushed with color, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he moans, louder than before. Blaine is quick to add another finger, scissoring the two that are already inside. He can feel his fingers getting dry again, so he presses Kurt's legs further apart, urging his hips up so that he dip his head down, his tongue pushing past his supple cheeks to join the ministrations of his fingers.

"Blaine," Kurt gasps out. "Stop. Stop stop stop, _please –_"

Blaine pulls away completely, withdrawing his fingers. The agent shivers at the loss, slowly opening his eyes to look at the President. Swallowing thickly, he says, "I'm sorry, you… you had to stop or I was gonna –"

He silenced Kurt with a kiss, pulling him closer to his body.

"I want you," Kurt breathes as they break away, and Blaine just gives a little smile in return. Kurt willingly spreads his legs a little more, wiggling his hips a little as Blaine guides himself toward the brunet's entrance with one hand. He's no locker slick, which is a problem, seeing as Blaine didn't get to stretch him out that much.

"Hold on," Blaine whispers, rolling off him and opening the drawer of the bedside table. He rummages around for a little bit, Kurt whimpering behind him, until he unearths a little bottle of lubrication. He takes that as well as a condom from the drawer, tearing the foil away with his teeth and rolling the rubber onto his hardened sex. He lubes himself up after that, coating his fingers as well and rubbing Kurt's hole, earning a shudder and a loud groan.

Kurt doesn't once tell him to stop as the President presses inside. Kurt's fingernails dig painfully into Blaine's shoulders, but he _loves_ the feeling – it takes his mind off of how mind-blowingly _tight_ Kurt is.

"Go," Kurt urges, dragging his nails down Blaine's back. The President exhales sharply, needing no more encouragement than that, and begins to rock his hips back and forth. He can feel Kurt adjust around him as he begins to move, and the look of Kurt's face is almost bittersweet – like he's in pain but he _likes _it and just wants more. And oddly, Blaine is more than happy to oblige.

Kurt begins to move in time with Blaine, opening his eyes and lurching upwards to smash their lips together. Blaine wraps his arms around him, holding him close, picking up speed. His tongue slides out against the agent's bottom lip while one of his hands slides between their bodies to wrap around the base of Kurt's hardened sex, beginning to stroke languidly – a stark contrast to how quickly Blaine's pushing in, pulling out, repeat harder, faster.

"No, stop," Kurt begs, trying to push Blaine's hand away, but Blaine just keeps stroking him. He moans, loudly, and he arches forward against Blaine. Kurt's hands are groping against Blaine's dark curls, fingers weaving into the tresses and holding on for dear life.

He's not going to last much longer; that's all he can think about as their tongues battle for dominance, sliding over one another. Kurt tastes like champagne and some kind of spice, probably from the hors d'oeuvres he ate at the party he had gone to. It turns Blaine on even more than he already is.

He angles his hips a little better, holding Kurt close and moving more purposefully now. Fortunately, he has adjusted himself just perfectly – and by the look on Kurt's face, he knows that he has hit the younger man's prostate this time.

It doesn't take long, after that. The thrusting, the stroking, the making out – Kurt comes hard into Blaine's hand, splattering against his stomach. Seeing him come is enough to push Blaine over the edge himself, and he thrusts a little faster until he is coming, too. He moans, loudly, holding Kurt close, the come rubbing against their skin as he arches into Kurt, their stomachs pressing together.

Blaine holds him for a few more moments before they fall back against the mattress together. He pulls himself out with a wince, rolling over so he's laying on his side, staring at the man beside him. Kurt is gazing at the ceiling, his wide blue eyes glistening in the dim light, chest rising and falling with every deep breath he took.

"Kurt –" he begins, but the agent rolls over onto his side and stares at him.

Blaine stops cold at the look on Kurt's face. Their eyes lock, and nothing has to be said. Kurt is so beautiful in that moment – eyes wide, lips parted, face flushed, hair a mess – that he can hardly stand it. Blaine grins a little, reaching out to let his finger stroke down Kurt's cheek. He slides a little closer, their noses brushing, though they don't go any further than that.

Kurt just smiles, twining his hand with the President's. Blaine's amazed, how they can go from horny and fucking – or making love? – to just laying here, hands clasped, staring. Just staring, like they'd never be able to get enough.


End file.
